


At one stride comes the dark

by acaramelmacchiato



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, anything but erotic nuns, every day is english romanticism day, in defense of nuns, non-erotic nuns to be clear, prouvaire gets drunk and criticizes robert le diable, prouvaire is a very energetic critic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaramelmacchiato/pseuds/acaramelmacchiato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prouvaire is scandalized by the ballet of nuns. That is all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At one stride comes the dark

“It was quintessential,” said Prouvaire, who nevertheless was drinking with such intentness that he did not fully lower the glass from his mouth to speak. “It was a new mark. Let it not be said school dance is moribund, for it has been enlivened by a dance of the dead. The moon made of gaslights, the artless ruin of the abbey and the graves, these things are perfect. But they are Henri Duponchel. There is not an interior decorator more worthy of respect! For the direction and inspiration likewise I am all benedictions. For the music also.  But the dance? I have no good opinion of it.”

 

“Jehan Prouvaire, offended by the merest whiff of an erotic nun? The devil. For my own part I prefer my monasticism to be a bit titillating. You know I asked Grantaire the other day, of all feminine occupations which is the most libidinous, and he answered me in English, ‘ _none_.’ I am of an inclination to agree, and I suspect you think the same. It is Maria Taglioni, isn’t it, some spat, you are upset with her, really you could not be a more dishonest critic,” said Bahorel, reclining from the candle flame with a smolder at the tip of his cigar. He wrapped silk around the tobacco to protect his gloves, in the manner of the Tsaritsa.

 

“Maria Taglioni?” said Courfeyrac, with some interest. He tried to conceal this by looking out onto the street and tapping his cane against his knee. “You know her?”

 

Prouvaire did not answer the question, but tossed back the dregs of his drink and seized the subject: “Maria Taglioni? What have I to say on the subject of Maria Taglioni? Her time in Petersburg has given her more athleticism than wisdom. That she sustains her movement so long  _en pointe_ is an element of spectacle, like the English traps in the stage, like the audience laughing about the pleasure it gives them to see through the nuns to the typical vices of opera dancers.”

 

“Athleticism,” said Bahorel, through smoke. “An intimate observation, it indicates you are quite upset.”

 

“Those specters did not thick men’s blood with cold,” said Prouvaire, in a final attempt to cross the T, but inadvertently setting the board for Courfeyrac’s response:

 

“Not with cold, specifically.”

 

“This ballet proposes that the vanities of temptation -- practiced even on women who died pure and final deaths -- are hollow, ridiculous, and obtuse. That having died in the endless gaze of Rosalia of Palermo, having lived contemplation, devotion, absolution and absolute, these historic saints would climb forth, shaking grave dust from their hair, and trade their salvation for the chance to flash a knee at a cringing Englishman? Worthless.”

 

“I suppose you would coax them out with a good hour or so of reading?”

 

“The only temptation in the devil’s repertoire of use on the dead is the promise of life. And what is that? Life is not putting one’s mouth on Adolphe Nourrit’s hands or beckoning him with a lifted skirt. Whom the gods love die young, and what would call those beloved maidens back from that eternity? Byron says early death spares the death of friendship, love, and youth. And these tug us hand over hand above the grave, we do not love vices in life but mortality, small deaths, sunsets, and the start of autumn.”

 

“Adolphe Nourrit, is it,” Bahorel very mildly inspected the tip of his cigar to assure himself that it burnt evenly. “Nourrit of the  _Amour sacré de la patrie?”_

 

“A handsome fellow, and a Saint-Simonian,” Courfeyrac nodded. “You know women of an age with our mothers rather often recount his Pylades as a seminal moment, but with different words; no matter what, he is rather popular. I suspect, out of a passing and somewhat expert interest, his open-throated  _italianate_  style is the key.” 

 

“I’ve heard of this,” said Bahorel, “from Joly, as a matter of fact. And a good segue to say some vices are worth living for, Prouvaire, isn’t that necessary to say if we are going to agree as we do that only virtues are worth dying for?”

 

“You are simply opposing two paired opposites,” said Prouvaire, looking for someone to refresh his glass. “We need to agree on nothing in order to justify the worth of virtue.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh I'm not sure this even needs notes because nothing happens. Here are some if you would like though:
> 
> 1\. Henri Duponchel was a set designer and an interior decorator which as we all know is a euphemism for fanfiction writer. 
> 
> 2\. Title from Rime of the Ancient Mariner OF COURSE
> 
> 3\. Adolphe Nourrit was a cool dude wow I'm really sorry I'm very tired. Is he cooler than Prouvaire? Sadly yes yes he is. 
> 
> 4\. (escapes through the air ducts)


End file.
